


if you wake up and you're still scared, just take my hand

by amitye



Category: Romeo And Juliet - All Media Types, Romeo And Juliet - Shakespeare
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Kidnapping, M/M, Minor Violence, Organized Crime, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-20
Updated: 2020-07-20
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:54:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25278811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amitye/pseuds/amitye
Summary: Romeo disappears, throwing his friends into a panic. Mercutio finds out something about his boyfriend, his best friend and the family he's trying so hard to be a part of.
Relationships: Mercutio & Benvolio Montague & Romeo Montague, Mercutio/Benvolio Montague
Comments: 3
Kudos: 12





	if you wake up and you're still scared, just take my hand

Mercutio wakes up to a high and trilly Bella Ciao remix and a string of resonant curses. He rubs his eyes and stares sadly at Benvolio as he throws their discarded clothes around the room looking for his phone. It stops ringing before he can answer and Benvolio just kneels on the floor, staring at the screen like a foreboding omen. 

"Ehi" he whispers, taking his shaking hand into his. "Come on. You're not burying a body or - or well, studying in secret for the police academy test or whatever your family's equivalent is. You were asleep with your boyfriend, who, for some reason I dare not mess with, no one hates."

Benvolio sighs. "Seventeen missed calls, Merc." 

"That's your worst? Poser." He mumbles mechanically although he can't recall this ever happening to him, cautiously stroking Benvolio's back. 

"It's my uncle."  
Benvolio hits the callback button, huddling on himself like a little penguin bracing for the snowstorm. Mercutio snuggles against him, leaning his head on his shoulder and fighting off yawns, but his eyes snap open when he hears Romeo’s name. 

“What? He told me he was taking the bus. Yes I did ask him if he wanted me to - what, he didn’t come home for the night at all? “

His fingers sink in Benvolio’s arm. “What?”

“Shhh.” Benvolio elbows him. “Well, it's not like I could have forced him- Alright, if he won’t answer maybe try calling… oh, I see, of course."  
A sprinkle of passive aggressive judgment he would normally find very sexy slips in his voice. 

"Well, I'll call you later. I'm going to try, yes, of course." He puts down the phone and looks at Mercutio, playing nervously with his hair.  
"Ehi, do you happen to remember when you last talked to Romeo?" 

He raises an eyebrow. "I asked him if he wanted to go see a movie after fencing practice, before I came here - there’s Pan’s Labyrinth with subtitles at the Odeon. He told me he was going with some classmates.”

“I see.” He disappointingly lets go of Mercutio’s hair and starts biting his nails. “See, I told my uncle they probably just decided to have a sleepover, but he doesn’t even know who Romeo’s friends are.”

He pulls out his phone, sending facebook messages to some kids from Romeo’s class, and Mercutio catches a glimpse of the time - 6.57 is a perfectly reasonable time for him to be still asleep at a friend’s house and not answer the phone, but it’s also a really weird time for his parents to start fretting.  
"Honestly it's ridiculous, we're basically abandoned on the street." Benvolio mutters. "I'm single-handedly raising this kid, am I not. "

"That seems a bit dramatic."  
He's actually thinking that he can't really think of any of Romeo's classmates who he can actually imagine him having an impromptu sleepover with either - surely there are some, because he's so reluctant to hang out with the Montague's group lately, though he never usually rejects Mercutio specifically.  
Benvolio thinks he's just fed up with being the baby, or too shy to go dancing, but that's pretty recent, because he remembers of when they used to sneak out to do dancing nights in the park and stay here all night, ending up doing fireworks in the bushes at three or four in the morning when the DJ, as befits corny middle school parties, packed up half past midnight.

“Maybe he got laid.” He blurts out, unconvinced, but the instant horror spreading on Benvolio’s face gives him a bit of confidence. 

"Ew!"  
Mercutio dodges a pillow. "What, are you repulsed by his budding sexuality? Very mature." 

"He would tell us if he had a girlfriend. Not sneak like this" he protests, although Mercutio notices he writes to a girl next.  
Still, around ten in the morning pretty much everyone - Benvolio, in his typical laid back fashion, ended up writing to the whole class - has told them they have no idea where Romeo is, and he gives no sign of coming home. 

One of Ben's cousins tries to track his phone but gets nowhere, and they start driving around the city center, chatting nervously and looking out the windows.  
"Maybe he ran away from home" he blurts out at the third or fourth drive around the same mall. 

Benvolio shakes his head. "No, why would he?" 

Mercutio clutches his fists, clinging desperately to that hope. "Well, you've said it, your family isn't the easiest place to grow up, maybe he fought with his parents and fucked off to some motel or something like that." 

The longing in Benvolio's eyes strikes him like a knife. “My uncle didn’t tell me they fought.”

“Yes, because he’d totally admit it if it’s his fault and not just assume you’re going to fix things so he doesn’t have to actually talk to his own kid.” 

Benvolio sighs, defeated. “But Romeo at least would tell us if he was so unhappy, right? At least one of us? He knows we’re always there for him, right?”

Mercutio doesn’t know what to say, because of course he does, how could he not? But he wants this to be stupid teen rebellion they can tease him about so badly, even as the hope is dwindling. 

“Maybe he just didn’t-” he starts, but forgets what he was saying when Benvolio screams and swerves abruptly and something hits him in the face. 

“What the fuck?”  
A girl in a red dirt bike and a motorcycle helmet covering her whole face darts past them and Benvolio curses, following her with his eyes. “I should probably chase her and give her a lesson, huh? Trouble comes in pairs like fucking cherries.”  
He strokes his temple, the full extent of how much he doesn’t, in fact, want to fight with some Capulet girl on the street sparkling in his eyes. “Are you okay? I didn’t see what hit you. I’m sorry, but as you see, it is indeed not possible to leave the house without nonsense”

Mercutio hums in reassurance, rummaging under the seat. He fishes out something plastic, puts it on the dashboard and then the stress and absurdity of this disaster he's meddled in builds up and he buries his head in his hands, laughing uncontrollably.  
"This is a rubber duck." He hears Benvolio groan. "I wonder what have I done to deserve this. I wonder if we just got bad weed last night."

There's something written on the duck's wing, Mercutio notices. S.O.S etched in the yellow paint with a needle.  
He pokes Benvolio's shoulder, the laughter choking out in his throat the moment the ideas connect. "I think I know something. Please don't think I'm crazy" he mumbles, hoping that he will in fact think and it won't matter because it's just the usual mindless vandalism and Capulet kids being Capulet kids. 

However, Benvolio still finds somewhere in his heart a reason to trust him, and at the park, right by the pond where last summer the three of them used to go to watch the newly hatched duckling take their first time, they find Romeo’s fencing foil stabbed into the ground, a red scarf tied around the handle.

It takes almost half an hour of hand kisses, hair stroking and just staring uselessly while he sobs and rocks back and forth before he calms Benvolio down enough to talk. All the while the red flag burns right into Mercutio’s eyes and he can’t take them off it, flashing and taunting to the point he thinks he can hear Romeo’s screams for help rising from it like flames. He hides his face in Benvolio’s shoulder, holding him tight.

“This is all my fault.” He mumbles weakly, his voice reduced to a wisp. “I should have gone to pick him up. How hard would it have been?”

“No.” Mercutio swallows, trying in vain to inject some false confidence in his voice. “No, you couldn’t have known. He’s just a kid, he should get to take the bus or go to the movies or leave the fucking house without being attacked.”

“Not kids like us, we don’t. If something happened to him- “

“No, no, stop. Why all this drama to tell us they’ve killed him? They must have kidnapped him and now they’re playing some game with us and it’s working well too, but I’m sure they just want to scare us.” He realizes in the middle of the sentence that he has absolutely no practical basis for what he’s saying whatsoever, but it’s too late to stop. It would be very cruel, very Capulettish to put on all this farce just to lead them to a dead body, actually. He clings to a wavering _why_ \- Romeo is barely fifteen, never hurt anyone and never so much as said an offensive word to a Capulet, why such sadism now? He never knew either family to target children, unless…

He cups Benvolio’s cheek, lifting his eyes to his own. “What are we going to do now?”  
He hopes the feeling of control, of a practical plan of action will put him back together, but Benvolio just sniffles and looks away from him and he can’t help but wonder if there’s really anything they can do in the first place.

“First of all we should tell everyone.” He tries.

Benvolio nods, biting his lip. “Yeah. We should have search parties. I'll call everyone and make shifts and…"  
He sobs again and his hands shake when Mercutio pulls him up. He kisses his knuckles and tries desperately to blink away his own tears before he lifts his head again. 

Another half hour goes away in getting all the needed Montague manpower in the same place, and one more - Mercutio has been in enough fights to imagine the results of that wasted time blossom on Romeo’s skin in vivid detail - to pick out zones to search and dispatch every group to their place.  
They spend a fruitless afternoon coasting the river and searching every abandoned building by the docks until they give up on any strategy or discretion and just go around screaming Romeo’s name until they’re hoarse. He almost punches Benvolio when he puts a hand on his shoulder to get him back to the car, and then starts crying for good.

“I don’t want to go back.” He sniffles like the petulant child. His brain is starting to short circuit. “You know that - we can’t now - the twenty four hours thing-” 

“That can’t apply here, can it? It’s not like Romeo is missing and we don’t know what happened to him.” 

There is nothing certain in Benvolio’s voice and he knows he should be reassuring but he has nothing to give. A different scenario starts building up in his mind - a Saw-like game where it’s only up to them and how fast they’ll be if they’ll find Romeo alive or not, and he sobs over his crossed arms all the way back home thinking about it, ignoring Benvolio’s worried questions. 

In any case, Benvolio pretends to fall asleep holding him and then slithers off, so that leaves him alone with his festering thoughts of how all his sincere and tender love for him is a treachery to be worn like false smiles and diplomatic words and he really should have expected that this was the only alternative to brutal violence. Every time he falls asleep for five minutes he sees Romeo's face in the dark, and Benvolio's room at the Montagues' might look like a tidy, well lit study in the light but it looks like a prison cell in the darkness, a half abandoned nest, and Romeo's face is bruised and streaked with tears. 

He fantasizes about sneaking in Romeo's room and burying his face in his pillow and seeing if that leads to sweeter memories of playing Just Dance into the wee hours of the night and climbing out on the roof to peek into swallows’ nests. But he also knows he can't waste time and he does have to sleep if he wants to find him and so he just lies staring at the ceiling until the door opens again. 

"I called my dad" Benvolio announces, coming back to the room with a burner phone in his hand, his face flushed and streaked pitifully with tears. 

"And? Did he scream at you?"  
Mercutio's fingers tighten around the bottle on the nightstand, as if it wasn't plastic and half empty and there wasn't a little distance problem in the way of his hot-headed-protective-boyfriend intentions anyway. He didn't think he had room to be any more upset, but apparently any new hurt done to the boys he wants to protect over anyone else in this shit town and shitter world piles up instead of fading in the front of much bigger problems, like a oozing landfill in the middle of his chest. 

"No, no, it's just… You know it always fucks me up."

"What did you call for then?" 

Benvolio's eyes start filling up again. "Is it so bad if I need a bit of advice? I can't do any of this shit on my own, I'm a stupid kid and I know my uncle expects that I can do it, but I can't and if Romeo really only has me-" 

He sighs and puts his arm around his shoulders. Benvolio sniffles and starts copying the list on the map of Verona that hangs on his bedroom wall - tidy, color coded lines and shapes only explained in legendas carefully hidden in his chemistry notebooks, like innocent organizational notes of a perfectly normal, if a tad anxious, Liceo Scientifico student a few months from his finals. 

"I told him uncle Tiziano might call him back to town soon," he adds, miserable. "It might be that's what the Capulets want. He's been in hiding for too long." 

Mercutio frowns. "I wouldn't worry about that. It would have made more sense to take you in that case." 

He realizes with horror he might feel marginally better if that was the case. He has been worrying about these very concerning realities for Benvolio since the first moment he knew him, whereas it's so hard with Romeo to think reality may ever touch him. He can trust Benvolio to not try to run or fight or mouth off and get himself hurt or worse. He can imagine him just tied up, trying to buy time, still and stubbornly quiet, not stretched out on the floor, in his own blood, red shadows laughing over him. 

"Not really, no," Benvolio mumbles. "He wouldn't come home without orders, and my uncle wouldn't bother with that just for me."

Mercutio looks at the pictures taped at every corner of the map - the extended Montague clan projecting their picturesque charm at this or that family function, so different from the Capulet's poised photos, adults shit faced, disheveled, hugging, children chasing each other and turning over chairs. He knows that it's a performance, in part - the frat-party vibe, showing off fresh testosterone and fiery young men in the face of old Capulet, with one son ran over by a car at two and three stillborn, reduced to relying on his wife's family and sketchy recruits - but there's nothing that would suggest such military coldness.

He wonders how hard it must have been for Romeo to grow up here, to feel this in every moment of his life, this constant fear, this constant awareness of how little _Romeo_ matters compared to _Montague, >/i> and yet to end up so sweet, so caring and full of love. He thinks of the way he lit up, on those days on the roof, when Mercutio told him how brave and manly such an adventure would be, and how terrified and helpless he must be feeling now. In that moment, he thinks very acutely of that old quote about every unhappy family being unhappy in their own way._

__

__

Romeo's father, coming on for half an hour before leaving on a search again, surprisingly agrees with him, when Benvolio brings up his theories, although his argument is more that old Capulet wouldn't waste this kind of scheme on getting vengeance for his wife's drunkard brother.  
"If they wanted a ransom, they'd ask. All you need to do is do your part to find him and don't worry about things beyond your place and your understanding." 

"What if he's not just somewhere waiting for us? What if they're torturing him?" 

“For what information? The boy doesn’t know a thing - I’ve always made sure everyone knows that for this reason exactly. You’re wasting time while my son is tied up somewhere, scared to death and alone."

At that point, Benvolio is barely holding back tears and Mr Montague softens up. "I shouldn't be expecting you to understand - you're young and soft, and I know you're scared for Romeo. But if we show them such tactics work on us and we can't take back our own, then what's stopping them from taking Montague children everytime they want something?" 

Benvolio's muscles tense up and for a moment Mercutio half fears, half anticipates he'll see a fight, but then he just sighs and drops his head." Well then, uncle, I don't see the point of waiting for the other group to come back. Come with me, Mercutio, you're not going to sleep anyway."

Someone left a feather on the windshield, grey with little eyelets on it. Honestly, it might easily be it's just the wind that left it, but they still waste some time at the park looking for other clues and leave fuming. It starts raining soon after, such that they can't see shit unless it's right in their faces, and Mercutio struggles to not scream in frustration the whole time. 

Benvolio whistles as they search, the same monotone pattern every time spiraling in and out of Mercutio’s head like a small swarm of angry bees. “We taught each other Morse code when we were kids so we could talk at the family dinners.” He explains to him, drumming the same tune on the wall with his gun when he stops to speak. 

“See? I thought if we scream his name he might not reply if there’s someone guarding him, but this way he can just drum his foot on the floor or hum or whatever and I’d know where to find him.”  
Benvolio’s eyes glitter in the darkness of the abandoned basement like a wolf’s in the forest, half-mad with hope, and he doesn’t think he can manage to be reasonable about this, to keep his expectations down and realize that Romeo is probably tied and gagged and if there’s anyone with him he’d be far too stupidly sweet and heroic to put them in danger responding, especially when he would, actually, love to beat some Capulets to a pulp right now.

He thinks it might be he just wants him to release the tension a bit, for Benvolio is a reasonable young man with realistic expectations of what help Mercutio can give, so he starts saying "You little dorks…" but his voice breaks midway, babbling the l over and over again while Benvolio kisses away his tears. He just can't think of them as happy sweet children right now. He won't survive it. 

Benvolio takes his hand and rubs little circles into his palm as they go from one place to another, and he crosses out sections of the map and Mercutio keeps in touch with Mr Montague and the other groups for any news but there aren’t any news and after a while it starts to feel strangely detached from reality, like they’re playing some romantic scavenger hunt, any hope to find Romeo flickering and dwindling. His brain is starting to treat him to fleeting glimpses of corpses everytime he turns his head a little too fast, puddles of blood where he slips and spiderwebs weaving over Romeo’s fading blue eyes, but he bites his lip and goes on. 

When they stop in a parking lot - a couple hours to sleep and then we can go searching for eighteen more straight, Benvolio chirps with the same hysterically cheerful, camp-counselor-from-a-Goosebumps-book voice of when he teaches his little cousins how to shoot - Mercutio curls against him for a kiss, pressing his face against his, taking in his warmth.  
“I’m going to the Capulets’ house.” 

Benvolio's face hardens. "No you’re not. What do you think you’d do?”

He swallows. “I know a lot of ways in. I could find some information lying around or… or… I don’t know, if things get bad I could threaten someone. But I can’t go on faffing around uselessly like this. I keep see- thinking -” he trails off. The things his head likes to harass him with are both his own business and his own burden and Benvolio worries enough. But he must have given something away, he sees it in the way Benvolio’s eyes melt, the softness of his hand against his cheek. 

“You’re spiraling a little. Maybe you should go home for a while - I’d keep you constantly updated. There’s no shame in knowing your limits.”

“Fuck that.” He slaps his hand off. “We’ll never find him like this. I don’t want to wait until they start mailing us body parts.”

That definitely sounds like he should be tied down and dumped in a padded room, and if not it’s definitely offensive, like he’s calling his family a bunch of complete animals or bad mafia movie villains, but he’s too mad to care. Benvolio shakes his head. “I see. And you think when we find Romeo he’s going to be in the mood to come to your funeral.” 

He bites his lip, pushing back tears and ashamed of how selfish it is, the other side of the coin - _but if you find him dead I’d rather be out of the picture by then._ Benvolio presses his forehead against his and runs his thumb down his cheek and he doesn’t break away this time.  
“Listen, my uncle is handling things. He’s having some -” he swallows down the euphemism with obvious disgust “ _conversations_ to find things out. It’s been less than three days. Everything will be alright.”

There’s a scream still building up at the back of his throat but it feels abominable to drag Benvolio down to the pit of hopelessness with him, so he just lies in his arms for the five seconds it takes for him to fall asleep and then slips out of the car, tugging at his hair and biting his lips bloody. 

He walks in circles around the car, alone with himself, any image that would normally ground him and bring him happiness tainted one way or another. He pulls his jacket tight around his body, fishing for a knife, and he's about to fuck everything and sprint out in the darkness when he sees a shadow lean over the windshield. 

He runs towards it - how come he didn't think he was leaving Benvolio alone and unprotected? - slamming it against the wall with his full force. A high girlish scream pierces his ears, but the shadow doesn't try to break free. Perplexed, he scoots over under a streetlamp to reveal a slight girl, colorless in her white jeans and grey parka and long black plaits. She holds a folded paper out to him, her hand shaking, and when Mercutio takes it, bewildered, careful to not let her wrist go, it reveals a street map with a red circle drawn in nail polish. 

He shudders, speaking softly, barely a hiss. "What is this?"  
_Help_ the girl mouths inaudibly.  
Mercutio raises his eyebrow. "Do you need help? Or, this is help?" 

He notices her glasses are pink, and her beaten-up Converse dark orange. His hand tightens around her arm when she stays mute. "What do you want with us? Is this a game to you?" 

The girl raises a pleading hand up to him, gesturing to wait, and blows on the car window, diffusing the lamp light on Benvolio's face like a sleeping prince in a glass coffin. In the mist, she writes with her pinky _how do I know u dont have a mike on?_ and turns at him with sad, apologetic eyes.  
Mercutio sighs, half annoyed, half faintly disheartened at this state of distrust. "No I don't, and I don't have time for you to pat me down either. You're going to have to trust me." 

She bites her lip and her eyes fill up with tears. "Alright, but no one has to know I talked to you." 

Mercutio nods. "I don't even know who the fuck you are." 

The girl winces. "Good." She mumbles, her voice shrill and thin. "You just have to follow this out in the country. I marked all the turns to be sure. You have to look for an empty farm, with a cow pen, painted white and pink. Your friend will be in the barn." 

He takes a quick look at the map. "This place isn't on our list." 

"Because my father had it abandoned for the occasion" she says bitterly, her little fist clenching up. 

He feels anger mount in his voice. "I don't know if I can trust you. Why did you send us back to the park with that feather? What were you trying to stall us for? We wasted so much time! And if you had a map, why not give that to us directly?" 

The girl shrinks under the questioning, pulling away from Mercutio. "You got that wrong. I wasn't -it wasn't a duck feather. A b-barn owl."  
Mercutio can hear himself growl. 

"Tybalt told me you were good at riddles!" She cries out. "And I didn't want- I really thought this could work, and if I wasn't too explicit, if I got found out, I don't know what would happen to me." 

She sobs, and wipes her tears on her sleeves. Mercutio hesitantly touches her shoulder - that doesn't sound far-fetched, knowing the Capulets, to be fair, but he's not at his best ability to be fair.  
"Why didn't you at least take less to give us the clues? Didn't you think of how we must be suffering, of how Romeo must be suffering?" 

"I had school." She looks down, adding, apologetic for how silly that is "I have my final exam this year. If I didn't show up someone would notice."

He raises his eyebrow, skeptical. No way this girl is Benvolio's age. "You're starting uni next year?“

She blushes. "I'm starting high school next year."

He buries his face in his hands. _Such a good use of your precious life, Mercutio, terrorizing little girls in dark corners, how proud Romeo would be to see how the demonstrations of your ardent friendship look like._  
"It's okay, you- you did your best. That feather thing, Romeo would have known if he was here, you know, he was in the Boy Scouts." He chokes out in a display of nonsense beating some of his best material, but at least it makes the girl smile a little. 

"I thought so. He looks very sweet." She whispers, blushing.

"You saw him!“ He cries out. "Was he alright? Did he tell you anything?" 

She shakes her head. "I think, yes, but I saw him just on the first day, when my mother forced me, and I ran away almost at once. I'm sorry."

"That's alright." He says, and adds, on impulse. "Do you need a ride home? It's getting dark and it doesn't look very safe." For the first time in days the thought of waking Benvolio and immediately presenting him with a ditzy Capulet child under his responsibility brings a little smile to his face. 

"No, it's okay. If I was scared of the dark or of getting hurt I wouldn't be doing this." 

Mercutio's heart clenches up, suddenly guilty of how little stakes his little teenage rebellions have, of how little anyone in his family cares for them. "This really must have been so dangerous for you," he whispers "why did you do it? Your family… They must have a reason for doing this, sick as that is. Why go against them?" 

She shrugs. "In vengeance I shall feel the loss, but not the friend I weep for." 

As if to erase the sarcastic venom of those words, she throws her arms around Mercutio's waist and squeezes him tight. "Goodnight for good now. Good luck." 

She bolts in the night. Mercutio frantically shakes Benvolio awake and briefs him, talking too fast for him to interrupt with reasonable objections of how this is probably a trap and is he sure he isn’t hallucinating. He is desperate enough to believe him, in the end. Of course he is. 

They leave into the storm, Mercutio trying to scream the directions over the thunder drowning his voice. The wheels keep getting caught in the mud and every time they have to stop is a twinge in his heart, but after a while he can sort of feel a sense of peace over him. No matter what happens, in the span of an hour he will hold Romeo in his arms, or they’ll all be together in an at this point well deserved Valhalla, and he feels that it’s all that matters. He notices Benvolio looking nervously out of the window, but he’s scared of asking him if he’s expecting to see Capulets hiding in the trees or a body in the ditch. He just caresses his leg as much as he can without distracting him for driving, and hopes with all the strength he has left.

It’s far too rainy and dark to make out whether the farm is white and pink, but they find it, somehow. Benvolio’s hands shake when he hands him a gun and a flashlight and they run stumbling, half crushed under the heavy rain, barely making a token effort to actually look around for Capulets, so close they are.

The door resists a little when he tries to open it, so he throws himself against it with a cry and goes rolling on the half-flooded floor, a fluttering of wings spreading ominously over his head.  
When he pulls himself up, Benvolio sways against him, his breath coming out in tearful little gasps. His torch is pointed somewhere and Mercutio is terrified of following it with his eyes, but he forces himself to do it. 

Romeo is huddled in the corner,, hands tied behind his back to a pillar and head hanging limp. His eyes are bound and his lips taped shut, rain running down his cheeks like dirty tears and dripping from his hair.  
Mercutio blinks, bewildered for a moment, and then he's down in the puddle next to him, squeezing him desperately, his fingers shaking around the knots.

"Untie him, quick. I'll check if it's safe."  
Benvolio whispers, strangled, before starting his rounds around the old barn, eyes watchful for any Capulets still here. 

He cuts the rope around Romeo's wrists and ankles and he drops heavily in his arms, like a ragdoll - he hears Benvolio gasp and quicken his step, the flashlight dancing at odd angles when his hands start shaking. He kneels next to Mercutio as he undoes gag and blindfold, pressing his fingers against Romeo’s pulse point and swearing profusely. 

Romeo’s eyes flutter open when he frees him, pretty stunned but seemingly fine, though his right eye is blackened and there’s blood running down his cheek from his split eyebrow. Mercutio gently rearranges him in a more comfortable position, with his head in his lap, eliciting a soft groan when he lays him down.  
Benvolio’s relieved smile turns into a frown. “It’s us, Ro, don’t be scared. We’ve come to take you home. Are you hurt?” 

Romeo doesn’t react, but when Benvolio starts lifting his shirt he stiffens painfully and shakes his head. Benvolio doesn’t look convinced. “I’ll just have a quick look, ok? Then we can all go home and forget this.”  
He rolls up the wet fabric, pointedly careful, Mercutio notices, to not pull it over his head, to not make him feel trapped or blinded. He wonders, swallowing hard and trying to keep his eyes away from the violent yellow-and-purple stains on Romeo’s chest and stomach, if it’s just intuition or Benvolio has much more experience with this than he cares to know. 

Romeo doesn’t complain at all when Benvolio starts gently poking at his bruises, which he supposes is a sign there’s no serious damage, but the way he goes limp and his eyes wander all over the ceiling doesn’t encourage him at all. He’s been told, theoretically, what you’re supposed to do about dissociation, but his willingness to take care of himself has never been substantial enough to counteract his notorious dreadful memory and scattered brain, so he just rubs his arms and legs to try and ease the cramps and get his blood flowing again. 

The skin of his wrists was rubbed off in thick circles of raw flesh where it touched the ropes, such that he looks like he’s wearing red leather bracelets, but he tries very hard to not look at it for too long. Romeo needs him present and gentle right now, not panicking or working himself into a rage, and he has to try to get this right for once, at least for him.  
"Well, it looks like everything's alright. Let's get you out of here before the Capulets come back to kick our asses, mh?" 

Benvolio’s words startle them both, gentle as he’s trying to be. Romeo shakes his head again, determinedly. “No one’s been coming here for the last two days.” He shivers, his eyes welling up. “I didn’t think you’d ever come.”

Benvolio jerks up, the look of a wild animal caught in headlights in his eyes, but as Mercutio is evidently no help at all he smiles and tentatively plants a kiss into Romeo's dusty, blood-streaked curls. "I know. I know, that's really just natural, you must have been so scared and… I'm sorry we took so long."

Mercutio tries really, really hard to not imagine what kind of directions the mind of a boy with such an excitable imagination might have gone, in three nights and two days alone, blinded, unable to move, with just the sound of his own breath and the squeaks of the bats to keep him tied to reality - he really, really needs to keep functioning and his imagination is an even worse old hardened bitch. 

"Do you think you could walk?"  
Romeo makes an half-hearted attempt to sit up, but Mercutio looks at Benvolio and shakes his head. Benvolio bites his lip in thought.  
"Let's see."  
He hands Mercutio his gun, flashlight and car keys, then gently helps Romeo on his feet and scoops him up. Romeo clings to him like a little koala as they walk out, and Mercutio has to use all his willpower to look forward and do his job and not keep turning around. 

He sits down on the backseat and Benvolio places Romeo in his arms.  
"Take care of him" he whispers. "I have to call my uncle and then it's a long drive." 

Mercutio nods, letting Romeo rest on his shoulder while he digs around the glove compartment. He gives him a mostly empty water bottle and cleans up the blood as well as he can with wet wipes, stroking his hair all the while. He finds a half finished box of Valium and considers trying it - Romeo would definitely feel so much better if he could calm him down a little, settle his heartbeat and snap his body out of this exhausting survival-high-alert mode, but he doesn't know if it might be too strong for him in this state or have some weird side effect. 

"I'm sorry I'm so useless" he mumbles into his hair, kissing his temple.  
How come they didn't think to take water or a blanket and maybe a first aid kit? Benvolio is usually so good about that, and they could have expected to find him in this state - they could have expected to find him a lot worse off than a little bruised and chilled. Were they really expecting to find him dead all along? 

For a moment he’s paralyzed by fear that Romeo can read his mind, frankly obvious and believable after so many unconscionable adventures together, that he’s thinking what he’s thinking, that he’s about to ask about it and he’ll have to admit it. But Romeo is quiet and asks for nothing but affection, snuggling tightly against him. He fights his shaking hands to help him remove his wet clothes and covers him as much as he can with his jacket. He’s probably too soaked and hard with tension for his warmth to provide any comfort, but he figures it’s better than nothing.

Outside the car, Benvolio raises his voice a bit - _yes I could, but he’s not doing so well, no he’s not hurt, just very rattled and he should probably…_ \- and Mercutio pulls Romeo sideways in his lap and whispers in his ear about how he used to tell Valentine that thunder were the farts of the sky and how he repeated it at Sunday school when the teacher told them rain was the tears of angels, which is, understandably, not particularly comforting but at least he’s not paying attention to Benvolio or to the actual thunder or to the mess that must be in his head.

Benvolio starts the car, cranks up the heat and runs through the meticulously labeled CD collection, putting on Slow Disney Soundtracks - Mercutio is pretty sure a Party Disney Soundtracks exists too, since it gets pulled out on long boring group rides with embarrassing frequency.

He's starting to feel the sleep deprivation come over him, but he keeps thumping his feet and kicking his ankles when it gets bad, trying to stay present. He can't imagine Romeo is well rested either, but it seems he can’t sleep, despite the warmth and the music and Mercutio’s hopefully soothing arms. He relaxes after a lot of little kisses and sweet words and caresses and Mercutio carefully loosening his arms as soon as he starts chafing against the restraint and pulling him back in a hug when the fear passes, but he’s still shaking and his heart beats wildly out of sync and his eyes stay wide open, though a little glassy from exhaustion. 

He doesn’t even lift his head when Benvolio pulls over in a diner’s parking lot and taps to the window to signal he’s going in, and Mercutio wants to scream _what did they do to you?_ more than he ever wanted to know anything, but that won't do right now.  
Benvolio comes back with a milkshake cup of black coffee for himself and two juice bottles for them. Mercutio latches to his like a baby unto a breast and tastes an undertone of vodka and for a moment the sleep deprived, stressed out young delinquent before him is a bright angel radiating nurturing and sweetness and understanding. 

"Romeo, ehi. Ehi there, sweetie" the portrait of all human virtues mumbles encouragingly, and Romeo squeezes his eyes shut like he has been pulled from underwater in the middle of a particularly loud party. "Come on, baby." He runs his fingertip on Romeo's lips, dry and cracked open from the tape. "You need to drink. You'll go in shock."  
Romeo sips the virgin juice absently and Benvolio leans his head against his cheek and wraps his arms around his waist. Mercutio takes his hand and they sit intertwined together for a while. 

"Will you tell us what happened?" Benvolio asks softly, once he's settled again against Mercutio's shoulder and the sugar subsides the shaking a little. Romeo looks up affronted and shakes his head. He turns to Mercutio for support when Benvolio insists, and flinches when he just strokes his cheek and whispers "go on". He hides his face in Mercutio's neck. "What use is that?" 

Benvolio bites his lip. "Not much, you're right. But- but if they knocked you out we might have to go to the hospital, even if you feel fine now." 

Romeo shivers violently at the thought. “I- ok. But I’m not hurt, I swear. Just being a little-” he swallows and grimaces. “Well. I was coming out from fencing practice. I went to have a walk in the park before I took the bus home. There was a Capulet boy at the pond - I think he was waiting for me. I fought him-”

“I know.” Benvolio smiles. “You went down like a man. We found your sword at the park.”

Romeo rolls his eyes. “Yes. I expected him to wait so I had time to pull out my flimsy little practice foil and do a daring escape because I think life's the fucking Princess Bride."

Benvolio looks at Mercutio with bewildered doe eyes - he’s not very used to being talked back at, and he’s definitely not used to Romeo being bitter - but Romeo goes on before he can say sorry.  
“I punched him and ran, but there were three more waiting at the exit. I lost that one. They tied me up and drove me here, asked me a bunch of stuff I didn’t know and beat me up. It won’t kill me.”

He curls on himself, nursing the smouldering of his burnt pride. Mercutio puts an arm around his shoulders and kisses his cheek, he supposes, as a dubious reward for getting through the ordeal of explaining, but he feels restless. There’s a lot that stinks in this story, but one stands out - someone must have been planning this for quite a lot, following Romeo around and all, and he, who knows every face in Verona’s underworld, who may be reckless and forgetful and flighty and incapable of standing still ten seconds but has eyes on the back of his head and ears all over his skin, didn’t notice one damn thing. He shudders, looking at Benvolio’s sweet face as he runs his fingers through Romeo’s hair, lingering. “Do you want me to drive?”

Benvolio looks up, startled. "No, no, don't worry. I have the coffee for that." 

He takes his hand. "You're more tired than coffee fixes, you know? You should lie down here and snuggle up a little." Romeo hums approvingly at that proposition. 

Benvolio snorts."You don't have a license." 

"Oh, that is your legal concern? There are sooooo many guns in this car." He draws out to make him giggle. 

"Exactly. Last thing I want is us getting stopped because a clearly intoxicated sixteen year old is driving us around."

Mercutio sticks his tongue out at him and Benvolio presses a kiss on his hand. Romeo rolls his eyes and drops his head on the seat, out of Mercutio's arms, sighing in not particularly playful irritation. Benvolio notices and kisses Romeo’s cheek too. “Don’t worry. We’ll be home soon and then we can snuggle up all you want.” 

Romeo closes his eyes against his touch, but his frown doesn’t relax. Mercutio considers picking him back up, but he really doesn’t want to possibly make him uncomfortable, so he just keeps running his fingers through his hair. 

By the time they’re back to the Montague house, Romeo is steady enough to walk in on his own, Benvolio holding him for purely moral support, but he’s as pale as a ghost and almost falls over when Mrs Montague and a group of assorted cousins deemed too young to go on the search rush in to hug him and ask how he is and what happened. 

“Calm down. He’s just fine, but you have to leave him a bit of breathing room.” Benvolio sternly tells the children when Romeo breaks down sobbing in his mother’s arms. “This was not all a walk in the park for him, you know? I’d like to see what you would do! ”

This manages to redirect the attention from Romeo at least a little, but it also leads to him being the subject of the curiosity, and, while he would normally be thrilled about any evidence the Montagues are not just waiting for a chance to kick him out and put a restraining order on Benvolio, he also can’t bear to be distracted from Romeo right now. He gives the most boring and unadventurous account he can, bearing the grateful hugs from everyone as gracefully as possible, and dashes upstairs as soon as he’s free.  
He holds Romeo's hand while he soaks in the bathtub and Benvolio rubs arnica gel on his bruises. The hot water reanimates him a little, some color returns to his cheeks and his eyes look more awake, but he can’t really stop him from crying and trembling. 

“Stop, come on. You’re home, you’re safe, there’s no reason to be scared anymore, mh? Can you try to chill out for me?”  
Romeo sighs and shakes his head. He strokes his wet cheek and kisses his palm. “Yes you can. It’s all over now.” 

He snorts. “No, it’s not. It’s not even close to over.”  
Benvolio sighs with understanding and pulls him into a hug. “It’s not, I know. But we’re not going to abandon you.” 

Mercutio put his hand encouragingly on Romeo’s back, looking at them blankly, useless and half convinced he will never be helpful or comforting to them, that he will never understand. 

However, he understands soon enough. In the span of an hour what seems like the whole Montague extended family is gathered in the living room, while Romeo's father holds him and his mother weeps, strokes his hair and pours tea. Benvolio sits cross-legged on the armchair, stretched out towards his cousin, anxiously biting his nails, and the rest of the family seems to assume Mercutio's designated place is next to him, with an arm wrapped around his waist - at least judging from the inquiring stares he gets whenever he shifts a little. 

He'd like to get closer to Romeo or at least pace a little and stop the fucking stress twitch in his fingers, but he doesn't want to press his luck. It must be said to the Montagues' credit that they're a lot more open minded about them than he imagines the Capulets would be - there's no way he'd be allowed to listen to all this confidential information if everyone here wasn't religiously convinced he's going to marry Benvolio in the next five years. Or be murdered in the next five days, which is always an option. 

“There were four boys at the park, then one of them went away and a woman came, or at least I think so. The boys were just a little older than me, though I didn’t see all of them well.” 

“They’re new people, then?” One of the men smoking at the kitchen table asks. 

Mr Montague shakes his head. “He just doesn’t know. Tell me, do you think you saw the Argenti boy, at least? Tybalt, that is? He goes to your school. You should know him.” 

Romeo sniffles, shifting uneasily. “No, no, I… I just can’t remember. What does it matter? You know it was the Capulets, why is it important to know this?”

“Alright, alright. Do you have any idea of what they wanted of you?”

Romeo winces at his father’s caress, squeezing his eyes like a distressed kitten. "Mh, that I do. They had questions… A lot." 

A wave of rage goes down Mercutio’s spine and he embraces it, trying with all his strength not to hide whimpering in Benvolio’s shoulder like he feels so tempted to. 

“...about how much you gave the mayor to have Abraham put as security guard…” Romeo is saying, and a girl in a glittery blue dress sitting on the ground tugs at his jeans, handing him a cup of whiskey.  
He looks at her bewildered for a moment, then realizes he needs it.

“You were so sweet to help us out with the kid. We were all so worried.” she chirps. “I always told everyone you were a good match, you know, when we talked about this. Even at first when no one else really agreed."

Mercutio feels himself blush for possibly the first time since he was twelve. "Mh?" he says, noncommittally, fighting through the fog in his brain to focus on Romeo again.

"Yes, you proved you're very loyal." She giggles. “You know, Ben, a few days ago I went to see your ma. They let girls in with a lot less fuss, you know? We were thinking it would be nice for your boyfriend to get the Montague tattoo, especially now that he’s really part of the family.”

Benvolio makes a valiant attempt to smile at her. “Well, thanks, Luce, wouldn’t have wanted to have this kind of important conversations _myself_ like an idiot.” 

“Yes, I know it’s a whole hassle.” She agrees cheerfully. 

“Still, I’d rather Merc didn’t get it until he’s eighteen, it’s a big commitment.” 

Mercutio is starting to itch a little, but he does his best to ignore it.  
“Romeo, they definitely didn't take you for any of this. ” Mr Montague is saying, and while his voice is perfectly even and sweet Romeo looks on the verge of tears.

“Oh, don’t do the responsible-adult shtick to me now. I know you insisted to get it at thirteen and then cried for a week straight.” 

“Some of us do mature in the years, Luce.” Benvolio ruffles her hair with the same gesture he uses with Romeo, but he can see him looking the other way. 

Romeo has curled on himself even further, his father having to coax answer out of him as with pincers.  
“The lady asked me… two things, just two, really.” He mumbles. “First where my uncle was hiding, so I told her, I don’t know, I have a lot of uncles” Mercutio feels an unwarranted twinge of pride for the shamelessness that, realistically, he can have gotten from him only, but winces when he adds “She kicked me in the stomach. She had high heels.”

Someone laughs. “For fuck’s sake.” Benvolio whispers, and Mercutio wishes he said it louder.

“Then I heard someone sob and run off, but I don’t know if it was one of the boys or someone else. She sat down next to me, talking softer. She asked me if I knew a Cesare Capulet, since I was being such a baby. I was just confused. Then she said, what about a little girl then? Susanna Querci. Then…”

He buries his face in his hands, choking down sobs. “She asked me if I knew who drove the car. I said, I don’t know what you’re talking about. She-she-oh, someone ran over her son and the nanny’s daughter who was walking him around three years ago, I’d heard that on the news, but I didn’t - she asked me how you liked having a male heir, if I thought I was worth it, if I was such a reason for pride, but - she wasn’t making any sense, right, dad? You wouldn’t have a ten year old girl and a little toddler murdered?”

He breaks down crying, breathless, convulsive ugly sobs, pulling his knees up to hide his face, red with the effort. “Try to pull it together, boy!” The man at the smoking table says, and Mercutio doesn’t want to, but in a split second he’s on his feet, pulling a knife out of his trousers. 

“Do you want this up your-”  
He twists forcefully when he feels a hand restraining him, expecting it to be Benvolio and honestly about to scream, but Benvolio is enveloped tight around Romeo, wiping his tears and covering him in kisses, and it’s Luce’s hand on his arm.

“What” he spits “I’m not such a good match anymore?”

She looks down. “There’s just no point.”

Mercutio looks at the roomful of alarmed Montagues, some with their own knives out, and he throws his own on the ground, disgusted with himself and everyone. The vision of the New Years’ Eve party where he danced with Benvolio for the first time invades his mind, taunting and heavy with the feeling of freedom and yet belonging he felt then, being part of a family that looks out for their own through thick and thin and insanity and disappointment. Is this the dark side of the moon? Is belonging impossible for him?

“We’re going away.” He says out loud, crossing his arms defiantly, he doesn’t know with what authority.

Benvolio meets his eye and for a moment Mercutio he’s convinced there’s hate in them, but then he sees a little smile curl up his lips.  
“Uncle, I think we should go see Friar Lawrence. If that harpy was there she might have given him a slow acting poison or something.” 

Romeo looks up, frightened, shaking his head, but Benvolio taps something into his palm.  
Mr Montague runs a hand over his face, his shadowed in regret. “Maybe you boys should leave for a while, yes.” 

Mercutio could be positively impressed with this self awareness, but the weight on his stomach prevents him from appreciating it all too much. In the quiet, tense living room, Romeo hugs his parents goodbye and follows after them, Benvolio leading him with an arm around his waist.

He blissfully dozes off for ten minutes on the way to Benvolio’s house, worn out with tears, but he startles awake when Mercutio tries to carry him inside.  
“Are you tired? We could all go to bed together, if you’d like.” Benvolio suggests, but Romeo shakes his head and they just sit down together on the couch. 

“I’m scared I’d have nightmares.”

“Are you sure? We’d hold you the whole time.” 

“No, please. Can’t we just hang out a little? I’m hungry, too.”

“Alright.” Benvolio musses up his hair. “We can do it, and we’ll go to sleep when you feel like it. I’ll go pick up pizza.” 

Romeo frowns. “No, please, don’t go out again. We can just make something here.”

Benvolio giggles. “Yeah, no, I wouldn’t. Since mom got locked up we haven’t been exactly, ah, cooking. If there’s anything in the kitchen cabinet it’s an ecosystem of mutant spiders for Merc to play with.”

"Again, I can drive." He tries. He figures, comparing levels of sleep deprivation and intoxication, that their likelihood of just crashing into a wall is pretty much the same. 

"Again, we would like to relax and not come to retrieve you in jail. You two just stay here and snuggle." 

Romeo looks down. "I'm sorry you have to do this for me." 

Benvolio playfully smacks him. "No, don't be. If you must blame someone, try to convince Mercutio to get a Vespa."

He shrugs. "It would mess up my aesthetic." 

"Why? You already dress like a middle school vandal." 

Mercutio gasps in only half-mock shock and Benvolio high fives Romeo. "Never truer words have been said. Now, you guys just wait for me." 

When he leaves, the cheekiness of Romeo's smile deflates and he just lies down with his head in Mercutio's lap, his shutting in bliss for a moment when he embraces him. 

He expects him to fall asleep again, but he doesn't, holding onto his arms to secure them around his waist, his face staying strangely pensive.  
He takes a fleeting look at Mercutio's face, stroking his cheek where the dark ring of sleeplessness around his eye begins. "I must have given you guys a lot of trouble." 

He shakes his head. “No, no. You’re never trouble. It wasn’t your fault.”  
He wonders if he should tell him they had help, if it might help him feel, if anything, a bit more optimistic on the existence of good and kind human beings, but he decides against it. Romeo is quite a bit too prone to guilt, and not the best about keeping contact with Capulet allies minimal, and he doubts if he knew the girl who he’s now pretty sure lost her baby brother to his family’s power trip did so much to help he wouldn’t either short circuit or seek her out.

“I guess” he sniffles. “But… I want to thank you. If it was someone else who found me like that, I’d have been so mortified and… you’ve seen what my family’s like.”

He kisses the top of his head. “You worry too much, like your cousin. We were so scared for you. We’d never have abandoned you.”  
He nods, a small smile on his face. “Well, at least you’ve had some approval out of this. I’ve heard you talking to Luce. I’m happy for you guys.”

He shrugs. “Oh, I don’t suppose that lasted a whole lot. I did threaten someone with a knife.”

“Naah. People threaten each other with knives all the time at my house. It’s the substance that counts.”

There’s something off in his voice, and Mercutio strokes his hair, indecisive on whether he should speak out or not. “Romeo” he tries “can I ask you a question.”

Romeo nods casually. “I suppose I’m an expert in that now.”

“No!” He snorts out laughing, punching his shoulder. “Dark humor about this whole thing is forbidden indefinitely, okay? It’s even past my standards. God, I corrupted you.”

Romeo’s eyes sparkle. “Okay, okay. Sorry. Go on.”

He breathes in to build up the courage. He hadn’t had time to pay it mind before, but he realizes now it’s weighing on him. “You told me - when I asked you out at the movies, that you were going out with your friends. But you told Ben you were about to take the bus home, and you were out in the park…”

Romeo flushes. “They canceled on me.”

He raises his eyebrow. “I texted you just half a hour before… well.”

He shifts uncomfortably. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be lying to you. I just didn’t feel like having company that night.”

He frowns. “I guess that happens, but you should have told me! I’m the last person who can get mad at people for being flaky, you know. Was anything wrong?”

“No, no, it’s… it’s just…”

“What?”  
To his horror, his lips tremble and tears start leaking out of his eyes again.

“I realize I’m always intruding on you guys. I didn’t want to like, sit between you with the pop corn bucket spoiling the date and all. It’s not nice, being the third wheel.”

“Romeo” he whispers horrified. “I was going to meet Volio later. At the movies it would be just us.” 

“Oh… yes?” He swallows. “Why? Is everything alright with you two?”

“No! I mean, yeah, what are you talking about? We’re doing great, he just doesn’t like Pan’s Labyrinth. Is it so strange I’d want to hang out with just you?”

Romeo’s lips twist in a grimace. “Yes” he chokes out, and then covers his mouth, guiltily. “No, I’m so sorry, this is so unfair.”

“No, no, it’s not. What do you mean? You should tell us if you’re unhappy in any way.”

He looks away in shame. “I’m not unhappy. It’s natural, really, that you’re dating seriously now, you’re almost in the family, and you have less time for me. I should probably stop moping and trying to get laid so I wouldn’t need to worry about it, yea. But it’s my fault not yours.”

His first instinct, awfully, is to laugh. “Come on, you can’t be serious about that. Where does this come from?”

“I’ve been thinking about it a long time, but…” he blinks rapidly, but tears still spill out of his control. “I didn’t really realize how much it hurts until now. When I was in that barn, you know, I kept thinking about what Mrs Capulet said. That the only thing my father has that the Capulets don’t is a male heir, and that looking at me it’s really obvious that one pissing contest is all in theory and that I’m nothing to be proud or make a fuss about. It never left my head - could I really blame her? With how ignorant I showed I am, and how I got caught… and then I started feeling like no one would bother to come for me, that my parents can do better as an heir and you can do better as friends and it was better, anyway, if you didn’t waste time over me, so you’d remember me as just a sweet kid you lost and not a disappointment.”

He suck a breath in, the room spinning around him. “Romeo…” he chokes out “Romeo, you can’t mean that.”

“No, I don’t mean that, not really, not now. But I wasn’t really thinking straight there, I was scared to death and I didn’t know how much time had passed…”

He hides his face into Mercutio’s chest, sobbing. He helplessly strokes his hair.  
“I don’t know how to tell you how much you mean to us. I don’t know what would convince you. We were sick with fear - crying the whole time, by the way, so you know the next time someone makes you feel bad for crying. Your whole family was searching, everyone was so worried…”

“Oh, but I know, it’s just… when Ben first moved in, I thought it was going to be fun, to be brothers for a while. We were always really close, you know, we never fought as kids. But it’s been a lot longer than I was expecting and… I don’t know, it’s weird. I know it’s not his fault if he’s in this situation, and he’d rather it could all be over and go home, but… my parents like him better, that’s obvious, and now that you’re dating I feel like it barely matters that we were friends. That I’m the dumb little brother you drag around because my father forces Ben, and of course you want to be part of the family and everyone to like you, it’s normal. But I feel like I don’t really matter to anyone anymore.”

He sighs. “Romeo, no, it’s not like that. What made you think it? Volio loves you, he’s always happy when we’re together. I know he jokes about baby sitting you, but it’s because your father is a bit unreasonable about it, still, because he worries - after all, you’re fifteen now, you don’t need someone looking after you, you should be friends as equals. And don’t bring up what happened, because it’s not something that should be expected to happen any day as you stroll down the street. You shouldn’t be expected to fight off four guys on your own at your age. ”

Romeo smiles shakily. “I know, I know. But… I’m never good enough for anything. It’s so hard.”

“They make you feel like that.” He feels a tension running down his fists, clenching and opening again. “Romeo, it’s not true. Volio doesn’t think that. You don’t think that. I don’t think that. It’s just… your family isn’t a good place, Ro. I don't know if this thing with the Capulet children is true, even Volio knew nothing about it, I'm praying its not true, but even than, I can think of plenty of other reason why. You feel like that now, but when you’re older you’ll see that they’ll make Volio feel rotten because, for all they act like they love me now, you’ll be the one with a pretty wife and a half dozen rosy babies. Or because you’re so much better at fighting, when he spent his youth running recon and playing the little Godfather. They’ll always find a way to pit you against each other, because it’s helpful, it makes you work harder, I guess, but you shouldn’t do it to yourselves too. All we have is-.”

Romeo's eyes light up. "Love!" 

He rolls his eyes by ancient habit. "Each other."

Romeo punches his shoulder. "That's even cornier if anything!" 

"Mostly, I'd say it's the same thing."

"True" Romeo sinks into his arms. “I shouldn't he mean. You’re so wise.”

He snorts. “See, you’re also getting better than Benvolio at blatant bootlicking.”

“No, it’s true. I don’t know what I’d do without you. In a way, that’s the comforting part - even if you get sick of me, if you’re my family we can never fully be apart.” 

He strokes his cheek, tenderness overcoming him. “Oh, that’s the last thing that matters, I can grant you. You’ll always be my little brother, even if me and Volio end up throwing dishes at each other in two months, even if your uncle kicks me out of the house with the salt rifle. I try to play this game, to fit in, because Volio is stressed enough without me being contrarian about it, but you’re not my little brother because you’re my boyfriend’s family, you are because you saw me when I was fourteen with purple streaks in my hair and that fucking stud collar I swear I didn’t know was meant to be kinky and decided you should invite me to a poetry slam. I met him because of you, not the other way around. You were mine first.” 

Romeo snorts, his eyes a little shiny. “Oh, I’m yours now, really?”

"Yep. Sorry." He swats him on the nose like a misbehaving puppy. "I'm just collecting sweet Montague boys, apparently." 

He rolls his eyes. "Thank God all our other cousins are dicks, or you'd spread yourself thin."

Mercutio nods sagely. "Indeed. I know it would be very hard for you guys to share me too much." 

“Do I want to know what the fuck you’re talking about?” Benvolio walks in, hazel eyes and suffering voice barely peeking out of his hood and scarf. 

"You know you never do, Benny." Romeo giggles, looking up. 

“I guess I should know, don’t I.” He mutters, taking a good look at his face. He wipes the fresh tears and shoots a look at Mercutio, but decides against speaking. “Well, what do you want to do while we eat?”

“We could watch a movie.” Mercutio suggests. He doesn’t know if the sentiment is shared but he feels he needs distraction more than oxygen right now

Benvolio nods, setting the pizza on the table. “That’s a great idea. Something nice and sweet, I’d say. Comforting. Mercutio, what’s something sweet you like to watch when you’re sad?” 

He tries to think of something more or less porn-free, even though Benvolio knows full well what he likes to do when he’s sad. “Nausicaa of the valley of the wind.” 

“Mhh. Alright.” He turns to Romeo, affectionately cupping his cheek. “Well, Mercutio is disqualified. I’m sorry but I forgot he was like that. What about you, sweetie? Keep in mind you’re probably a little more sensitive than usual right now and you need to wind dow, so try to think of something as easy as possible.” 

Romeo also ponders it a while. “Maybe A bridge for Terabithia? I loved it when I was a kid.”

Benvolio runs a hand across his face. “Come on, man.” 

“Fuck you. Crying is cathartic.” 

“Yes, well, I think we’ve all been having more than enough catharsis right now. Let's do this." He pulls Romeo in his lap, resting his head in the nook of his shoulder. "Clearly we don't have the best decision making ability. So, as we are smart young men and know our limits, the best idea is to limit our options. Mercutio, if you open that drawer there are all the movies from when I was a baby. Please try to pick something nice."

He boos. "God but you're a plague.” He takes a look at the dusty old drawer and throws his hands in his hair for comedic effect, then fishes something out. 

"So, the bad news is that, as Volio here was born aged forty, there are no Disney movies. Good news is that I can offer you pretty much the entire output of National Geographic Wild since the year of our Lord one thousand and ninety four - in VHS, obviously. I'd recommend Snake Wrangler or Mating Season in the Arctic. I can attest these are really fun activities, though I think I’m more partial to the former than you are." 

Romeo hides his face in the blanket with a very reassuringly energetic scoff. 

"That one is a little gory." Benvolio points out obliviously, intent in cutting up the pizza. "There's like, leopard seals and predator birds and shit, you guys have no idea how many things eat baby penguins."

Mercutio silently makes note to comment on how adorable it is he still knows this by heart.  
Romeo shrugs. "I can take a little gore. I'd like to see some baby penguins."

Mercutio nods sagely, grabbing a slice. "You have to tolerate some grubs if you want to see the butterflies." 

"Are you quoting The Little Prince at me?" Romeo giggles. Mercutio sits down on the armrest and kisses the top of his head. 

"Maybe so. I am a man of culture, I, although your sweet cousin slanders me."

“Well I wouldn’t slander you if you had suggested that, a known wholesome classic, instead of the bloody war drama with the poisonous forest infested with bus-sized bugs.”

“I mean” Romeo points out “the whole point of the movie is that it doesn’t really count as infesting when the forest is their home…”

“No, Ro, please, don’t encourage him.”  
He puts the documentary on and runs back to curl on Romeo’s other side, leaning his head on his shoulder. 

For all their efforts to choose, they lose Benvolio by the time the chicks hatch and he tries to blink, but his eyelids are heavy and there’s a fog washing over him. He tugs on Romeo’s hand. “Wake me up if you have a nightmare, ‘mkay?”

Romeo giggles. “Yeah, no. You’ve more than deserved to sleep in peace.”

He frowns at him. “Romeo. Promise me. Trust me.”

Romeo smirks, and presses a little kiss on the back of his hand. “Okay. I’ll try.”

He falls asleep feeling safe and happy for what feels like the first time in forever.

**Author's Note:**

> First of all, thank you to my beautiful friend Alley_Skywalker for her inspiration for this plot. I enjoyed writing it an insane amount.
> 
> Assorted notes:  
> \- the title comes from this beautiful Italian song, which was actually written by the singer while he and his wife and been kidnapped for ransom, and it means: "If you wake up and you're still scared, give me your hand" : https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GO5SvqCto9A
> 
> \- while the main characters are not based on any musical portrayal, Luce is mean to be the fortune teller with the long black curls from the revival. Her name is the Italian version of the name of the actress, Svetlana Isaeva
> 
> \- Juliet's line to Mercutio is a play on something Lady C tells her in the original play, to discourage for weeping for Tybalt: "so shall you feel the loss, but not the friend/Which you weep for". Here she's kind of bitterly making fun of her mother's attitude, since she's not convinced her alternative method of getting revenge is actually all that comforting.


End file.
